Dream Of An Elderly Drunkard

Getting along in years, I've already learned once to get along with library books, a television with rabbit ears, the radio at night , (A.M., just talk).
I praise God that what looks nightmarish to some looks like a secret passage to safety to me.



Never once in my grown days did I ever run out of smokes. The morning smoke makes you smoke all day but it's worth it. Because you know why? That first smoke, you reflect on everything you have , especially what they can't take away. You fill your lungs and it's like downloading yesterday's memories. Who you saw, what they said, how you answered them.

Day before yesterday, can't recall. It's not a memory problem, you just don't need to recall, I guess. Day before yesterday is just part of a general accumulation (and acclimation).

And I know how to make a quart of beer seem like a line to a keg. Right down to about three fingers, a long time.


An old bum might want a pal---a partner really, like in the old west--- that's a help. Kind of like a kid might need an imaginary friend. But anyway your chance of a run of luck doubles. Bums share. One must probably eventually have to cross the other, though. He'll get too lucky, and you don't even fault him for disappearing.


I can keep my soul together, body and soul I'm not so sure.

My whole life seems a run of good luck. Things happen naturally and every time I'm a little surprised. Small worries proceed that, but I've always been more amazed at civilization than violence. Violence shocks but it's nothing to contemplate. People cooperating, building buildings, not wrecking into one another, that's something to think about and marvel at.

What should I worry about except the phone going dead.

But it never has. Each day a mild, pleasant surprise, and maybe something in particular to look forward to, like your show.